


He Trusts You

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Violence, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will Graham fails at arresting Hannibal Lecter, for once this isn't crack, proto Murder Husbands, the tea is not drugged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was supposed to arrest Hannibal for trying to kill Mason Verger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Trusts You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ina_K](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ina_K/gifts).



> This happens between Tome-Wan and Mizumono and hopefully doesn't mess with canon _too_ much.

“You’re under arrest.”

Those were the words he was supposed to say. Those were the words he’d told Jack he would say. Instead, they were the words that died in his throat as he watched Hannibal stride over to Mason Verger and twist his neck until his spine snapped with an audibly wet crunch.

“Is he dead?” Will asked in the ensuing silence.

“He’s mostly alive,” Hannibal said, “and will continue to be, so that our friend Margot isn’t left destitute and homeless.”

Hannibal beamed at him. Or at least it was as close to beaming as Will could imagine from Hannibal. He looked remarkably pleased with himself, eyes glinting in the deep blue shadows that swallowed the room.

“Want to help me get him home?” Hannibal asked. “It’s not necessarily a two-man job, but I’d appreciate the company.”

Will sighed. He did not ask Hannibal why he’d dragged Mason all the way over here, miles and miles away from Muskrat Farm, only to then take him back again. He did not ask Hannibal why it had been necessary to play out this part of the game in his living room. He was full of unsaid things tonight, apparently.

“Did you feed the dogs?” Will asked. “Something other than Mason’s face, I mean.”

Hannibal blinked at him. “Should I have?”

Will shook his head. “Let me take care of them first and then we’ll go.”

 

* * *

 

They took two cars: Hannibal and Mason in the Mercedes sedan Hannibal had borrowed to drive them to Wolf Trap, and Will in his trusty old Volvo wagon. They had the road practically all to themselves in the bleakness of the small hours. Still, Will kept nearly half a mile between them, just in case.

“Just in case what?” he asked himself, flinching to hear his own voice in the quiet.

_You could call Jack right now. You could call him and tell him to be waiting at the farm. You have time to come up with a reason why you couldn’t stop Hannibal breaking Mason’s neck, paralyzing him._

_You could… but you won’t._

_Why won’t you?_

The inner voice needling at him bore a few inflections that sounded unmistakably like Hannibal’s, but the rest of it sounded like his own.

_Why won’t you?_

He couldn’t even answer himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Hannibal was waiting for him outside the barn, Mason still laid out in the back seat and wrapped in one of Will’s old sheets.

“I called ahead to tell Margot to expect us,” Hannibal said.

Within moments, she was approaching them, her expression unreadable. She didn’t bother with any greetings, and went straight to check her brother over.

She pulled back a corner of the sheet and let out a low whistle. “You really did a number on him, Doctor.”

“I’d love to take credit,” Hannibal said, “but Mason did it to himself.”

“Dr. Lecter merely…provided inspiration,” Will said.

Margot let the sheet drop. “Will he be able to talk with that much of his face missing?”

“With proper surgery and therapy,” Hannibal said.

“How unfortunate,” Margot sighed. Then she aimed a cheerful smile at them and asked, “Would you like me to take care of burning that sheet for you?”

 

* * *

 

 

The silence in the car was becoming unbearable. He could feel Hannibal radiating satisfaction from the passenger seat, saying nothing but beaming as he had back at the house. They had only been on the road for minutes, and it felt like hours.

“What is it?” Will finally asked.

Hannibal turned that ridiculously pleased smile on him. “I was just thinking that I was somewhat surprised when you cut me out of Mason’s straitjacket instead of taking the blade to my throat. Thought you might live out your fantasy.”

“I was somewhat surprised, as well.”

Hannibal didn’t take his eyes off him. “Do you feel you made the correct choice?”

“I’m not sure I made a choice at all,” Will said. He had to force himself not to fidget under Hannibal’s scalpel-sharp scrutiny. “It was…I just did it. It was something I had to do.”

“Don’t abdicate responsibility, Will. Everything is a choice.”

Will snorted. “Even breathing? Breathing is autonomic.”

“Breathing is essential–vital,” Hannibal said. “Am I vital to you, Will?”

_Shit._

_Fuck._

_God damn it to hell._

Will bit his tongue and gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles ache. Slowly, he measured out, “You…might have been vital… to my getting out of there alive.”

Hannibal laughed softly like he hadn’t believed a word he’d said. Will wasn’t sure he believed more than half of them himself.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to come inside?”

Will blinked at him. He’d just pulled up to the curb outside Hannibal’s house and now Hannibal was asking him inside.

“You make it sound like this was a date,” Will said, regretting it as soon as he’d said the words.

“It’s a long drive back to Wolf Trap,” Hannibal said. “I’m offering you respite, perhaps something to eat. You tended to your dogs, but nobody’s tended to you.”

Will opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

“Let me tend to you,” Hannibal said, his voice low and soothing.

Will felt a spark of warmth in his belly, like a slug of whiskey downed too quickly. He opened his mouth to protest and said, “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

 

To his surprise, Hannibal’s idea of “something to eat” was a plate of crackers and cheese and a cup of spicy orange tea set out on the kitchen island.

“This is so… homey,” Will said, struggling with such a normal word.

“Best not to burden the stomach with too much after what we’ve been through today,” Hannibal said. “Speaking of which…”

He reached into a drawer and produced a pen light. “Follow this with your eyes, without moving your head,” he said.

“I don’t think I have a concussion,“ Will said.

"Let the doctor determine that, please. About how long were you unconscious, do you know?”

Will reeled his memory back to waking up in the barn next to the corpse of Verger’s thug. He pictured the quality of light in his mind’s eye, trying to pinpoint where the sun had been. 

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he finally said. “Maybe if you’d ‘tended’ to me then, you could’ve woken me up.”

Hannibal smirked, but again, he mostly just looked so damned _pleased_ with himself.

 _And with_ you _, if we’re being honest._

Next Hannibal took his wrist in hand and pressed the pads of his fingers to the pulse point. God, Hannibal’s hands were warm–hot even. Will felt like his skin was burning wherever they touched him. Had they felt that way when they were bandaging him up? Had he been so focused on killing Randall Tier that he hadn’t noticed.

_Maybe you didn’t let yourself notice._

_Maybe you did notice and made yourself ignore how it felt to have him touching you._

Will pulled his hand away. “That’s enough, don’t you think?”

“Your pulse is a bit erratic,” Hannibal said. “I’ll have a look at your head.”

Will sat still as Hannibal came around behind him and pressed his fingers against his scalp, just above the nape of his neck. Without meaning to, Will let his head fall forward and closed his eyes.

_He could snap your neck._

_He could break it just like he broke Mason Verger’s and here you are offering it to him._

_You trust him._

Hannibal’s fingers moved up his scalp, tracing over the curve of his skull and connected with the tender swelling Will hadn’t realized was there until that moment.

“Jesus, that hurts,” he hissed.

Just like that, Hannibal’s hands were gone.

_No, come back._

Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal fixing an ice pack for him. “Afraid we’re too late to stop the swelling,” he said, “but this should help the pain.”

Hannibal held out his hand and Will, without meaning to, took it.

_Everything is a choice._

_This is your choice._

Hannibal led him to the guest room and had him sit on the bed before handing him the ice. “I don’t think you should drive any more tonight,” he said. “You took care of the dogs, so they should be fine until morning.”

Will laughed. “You know me so well, you anticipated that the dogs would be my excuse.”

“Complete strangers would have anticipated that, Will.”

Will laughed again, harder this time, and winced at the resulting pain in the back of his head.

“Stay with me for a bit,” he heard himself say. “To make sure I’m not concussed.”

_Everything is a choice._

Hannibal seemed to hesitate, but toed off his shoes and climbed into the bed beside him. He gestured for Will to lean against him, and he did so, surrendering the ice pack so Hannibal could press it softly to the back of his head.

In this position, he was limited in where he could place his hands, so he slipped his arm around the back of Hannibal’s waist and settled in closer to him. He felt Hannibal rest his cheek on top of his head, felt the rough stubble catch slightly against his hair.

“I might fall asleep like this,” Will said.

“I’ll watch over you,” Hannibal said.

_He could kill you in your sleep._

_The thing is, you trust him to kill you, you freak. You trust him to kill you…you trust him_ not _to kill you. You just… trust him._

_But…he trusts you, too._

 

* * *

 

 

Will realized he’d drifted off when he woke to Hannibal kissing the side of his face.

“What are you doing?” he meant to ask, but then that cruelly teasing mouth was on his own, devouring words and breath alike.

He meant to protest, but instead he pushed his hands into Hannibal’s hair and pulled him closer. He bit at those lips, and bit harder when he felt Hannibal smiling. He tasted blood and that spiced tea, cloves and copper intermingled.

Hannibal stretched out beneath him and Will rose up to straddle his hips. He couldn’t bear to see that beaming pride in Hannibal’s face, so he leaned forward and kissed him again. He bit along Hannibal’s jaw, down the offered tendon of his neck to the hollow of his throat. It would be easy from this position to wrap his hands around that throat and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until he felt the trachea collapse under his thumbs. Hannibal probably wouldn’t even stop him.

_He trusts you._

“Was Randall Tier so lucky as this?” Hannibal whispered in his ear.

Will sat up with a start, gasping to catch his breath. His heart thudded wildly, echoing in his ears.

He was alone in the guestroom bed, kneeling on top of the covers, his fingers digging into the pillow.

Now he remembered falling asleep with his face against Hannibal’s shoulder, remembered thinking how strong and solid it felt, how strangely safe.

Even his inner voice couldn’t muster up an admonishment fitting enough.

“Hannibal?” he called out, his voice embarrassingly tremulous.

When silence answered him, he followed the scent of that tea to Hannibal’s bedroom, and found him reading in bed.

“I thought you might rest better alone,” Hannibal said.

“No, you didn’t,” Will said.

“Then I thought _I_ might rest better alone.”

It would be easy to pluck the book out of his hands and toss it aside. It would be easy to crawl into his lap and straddle him as he had in the dream. It would be easy to kiss him until both their lips bled.

Instead he stood in the doorway and asked, “Did you really send Randall Tier to kill me?”

“I sent him to you,” Hannibal said evenly, “to die.”

“Did… did he know that?”

“He knew he had three options. He could be arrested and spend the rest of his life incarcerated, or he could die by his own hand.”

“Or by mine,” Will said.

“In a way befitting his nature, and yours.”

_He's telling you the truth. Your lure is firmly caught in his cheek. He's waiting on the end of your line and he doesn't even know it._

_You can still salvage this, if you want to._

_But..._

_...do you want to?_

"I think I'll head home," Will said. "We still have a lot to take care of before..."

Hannibal smiled at him with undoubted fondness. "Yes," he agreed. "Before."

Will found himself smiling back without meaning to.

It was like breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic commission for Ina-K on Tumblr. Thank you for helping me and my puppies!
> 
> My elderly dogs need to go to the vet and I don't have the money, so I'm writing for generous patrons! Please see this post for details and hit me up: [Commissions](http://avegetariancannibal.tumblr.com/post/143331412544/taking-fic-commissions)


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